No Easy Way To Be Free
by letmefallasleep
Summary: Another 'Jack becomes a Mercer' story. 14 year old Jack Wilcox is picked up for assault, and the detective finds something suspicious. "Fourteen and this is your ninth arrest. We've got four counts of possession of cocaine, three counts of theft, one charge of prostitution… and now an assault charge, Jackie boy. That's pretty impressive for somebody your age." T for now
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, so I've redone both chapter 1 and chapter 2. Mostly small changes, but you might want to reread through them both anyways. Mostly some personality type things, some small typos, etc. I also tried tweaking the beginning of the second chapter; I know it was a little stiff. Don't know if I really improved it at all, but I made an attempt. : /

Also, I want to have two special shout-outs. The first is to Al Harris, my inspiration, and sometimes beta. He's the greatest, and you should all go check out his stuff. There's been a lot of times I've wanted to give up, and he hasn't let me. There are times when I'm not going to post something (this story included) because I don't think it's any good, and he changes my mind. So major shout-out to you! : )

Also, second shout out is to treesaresnazzy: Due to my... lack of plot, or knowing whether or not I was going to post this, I just threw some ages in, without really thinking. After going back and re-reading, I realized that a three year age gap between Jack and Bobby was completely unrealistic. Granted, I didn't change it much, just made it a seven year ago difference, but it's a little more believable. So thank you for pointing that out to me.

Also, some more definite warnings now: Physical abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, language, drug use, mentions of underage prostitution, underage drinking, and self-harm.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make no money off this.

Please read carefully: THIS IS NOT SLASH. I don't write slash. This focuses on Bobby and Jack as brothers, and that's it. I respect your right to write slash, please respect my right not to write it. : )

* * *

Conor Britton sighed as he stepped into the small interrogation room, the thick file in his hand belying the age and size of the teenage boy in front of him.

"Jackson James Wilcox," Conor read slowly, although he'd already familiarized himself with the case before entering the room. He slowly walked around behind the boy, before leaning against the wall directly behind him.

"Says here you're fourteen, Jackie. Fourteen years old, and this is your ninth arrest. We've got… four counts of possession of cocaine… three counts of theft… one charge of prostitution… and now an assault charge, Jackie boy. That's pretty impressive for somebody your age."

The small blond boy didn't respond. He sat, hands in his lap, head hung with his shoulder length hair covering most of his face, unmoving as a rock. Conor smiled grimly, and walked around to the other side of the table, plopping himself down in the chair.

"What, nothing to say to that, Jackie?" Conor asked, tilting his head a bit to try and get a good look at the kid. "You know, this is usually the part where you say you didn't do it, you were framed… Any number of those things would work."

A slight twitch was the only response he received from the still boy across the desk.

Conor sighed. "Look, Jack… This isn't gonna end well for you if you don't help me out here, alright? You did a lot of damage to that clerk. He's in the hospital right now. You just gotta give me somethin' to work with, kid. Did he come on to you, he try to force you to do somethin', try forcin' ya into the john with him? He say somethin' that just sent you over the edge?"

"I just… I just needed the money."

Conor leaned back in the chair, a little surprised. For such a small kid, the boy had a deeper voice than Conor himself did.

"For what, Jack? What'd you need the money for? Drugs? Booze?" He almost felt bad when the poor kid started trembling a bit, obviously afraid, as he shook his head. "Alright, so what was it, Jack?"

Conor could feel the blood drain from his face as the kid finally looked up at him, the hair in his face falling to the side, to give Connor a clear view of the bruises that littered the kid's face. Bruises that were too old to be from that night.

Only one of the kid's bright blue eyes was visible, the other one being completely swollen shut. Probably from the same blow that'd broken his nose. His lip had been busted open, with dried blood still caking around the edges. And Conor was pretty sure the large red marks on the kid's neck were from a hand print.

"Kid… what happened, huh?" Conor asked softly, while internally cursing the uniforms who'd brought the boy in like this, and not told him. "Why'd you need that money?"

Jack finally looked up at him, glaring daggers with his good eye

"Nobody wants me when I look like this. And he needs the money, or..." The young boy cut off sharply, knowing he'd said too much. He turned his glare towards the table, letting his hair cover his face again, tapping his foot against the floor in agitation.

"Or he'll what, Jackson?" Conor asked softly. He waited a few minutes for a response, but all that he got was the boy shaking his head.

"Please… can I go home now?"

Conor sighed as he stood. "Not yet, kid. I'll be back in a few minutes, alright?"

Not waiting for a response, Conor hustled out the door, and down to one of the payphones usually reserved for those making their 'one phone call', inserted a quarter, and dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Ms. Evelyn? It's me. I've got a boy down here I think you should come see."

* * *

Evelyn had barely hung up the phone, when she seen the shadow in her doorway.

"You know, at one time, I used to handle these things all by myself," She said softly, smiling at her oldest son. "No help at all."

Twenty-one year old Bobby Mercer grunted. "Yeah. And you see how well that worked out with me an' Angel," He said, a dark look on his face as he came in, and sat down next to Evelyn on her bed. "Who was it?"

"Detective Britton."

"All I gotta do is throw shoes on."

Evelyn sighed, as Bobby stalked back out of the room, quickly and quietly, his movements completely at odds with his stocky frame.

Ever since Angel, the latest addition to the Mercer family, had arrived, and broken Evelyn's wrist, and nose when he had a panic attack the first time he met her, Bobby no longer let her go to any of her calls alone.

As she quickly changed from her pajamas to her clothes, grabbing her purse, she thought to herself that Bobby had a point. There were a few times when having him with her had saved her from a lot of pain. That boy a few months ago, coming down of crack, for example. If Bobby hadn't grabbed it, the chair that the boy had thrown probably would have caught Evelyn right in the head.

"Car's warmin' up, coffee's gonna take another two or three minutes," Bobby said, interrupting her thoughts as he stepped into her room again. "We goin' to the precinct, or they moved the kid yet?"

Evelyn shook her head. "The precinct. The way Conor talked, I don't think he'd even informed Social Services yet."

Bobby shook his head. "Awesome. That's just great, Ma."

* * *

"Detective Britton?"

Conor stood up, and forced himself to smile at the elderly woman coming towards him.

"Ms. Evelyn," He said, reaching out to shake her hand. "It's good to see you." He turned a disparaging eye at the stocky young man shadowing her. "Bobby."

"Conor."

"Bobby!" Evelyn admonished. "Be polite."

Conor could feel the hair rising on the back of his neck as Bobby gave him a cold smile.

"I am, ma. Where's the kid, and why are we here?"

"This way, Ms. Evelyn," Conor said, casting a dark look at Bobby, and directing his attention to Ms. Evelyn. "They brought him in a few hours ago. I only spent a few minutes with him before I called you."

"What was he popped for?"

Conor glared at Bobby, before turning his attention back to Ms. Evelyn. "He assaulted a clerk at a convenience store. Tried grabbing a handful of cash from the register, the clerk stopped him, so the kid beat the hell out of him."

"And you dragged my ma down here at one in the morning because…?"

"You know what, Mercer? When I start addressing you, you can start asking the questions. Otherwise, shut up, and do your thug thing, alright?" Conor snapped, stopping and going toe to toe with the younger man.

Ms. Evelyn sighed. "Boys, please. Have your pissing test tomorrow? To be fair, Detective Britton, I'm wondering the same thing as my son. While most kids with good home lives don't go around robbing banks, it's not exactly unheard of."

Conor smiled grimly as he stopped in front of the viewing room, opening the door, and ushering her inside. "Take a look at the kid, then I'll tell you what he said."

Bobby barely restrained himself from pounding the shit out of the back of Conor's head as the man shoulder checked him to get in the room in front of him. But a backward glance from Evelyn kept him in check, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, before glancing through the viewing window.

Bobby sighed when he seen the kid. Couldn't have been much more than fourteen, maybe fifteen. He paced the room restlessly, his light-wash jeans hugging his hips tightly, riding low enough that Bobby wondered how they even stayed on. His white wife-beater clung tightly to his thin, emaciated frame.

And it looked like somebody had taken a two-by-four to his face. The long hair hid a lot of it, but what Bobby could see looked bruised, and beaten raw.

"Those doesn't look like fresh bruises," Evelyn said softly.

"They're not. When I asked him why, he said because 'nobody wants him when he looks like this'. And then he added, 'and _he_ needs the money'. I terminated the interview, and called you. Figure he's either hustling on the streets, and his pimp beat the hell out of him, or step-daddy or maybe just daddy is pushing him out there, and beating the hell out of him. Either way, figure you could act as his advocate."

"You haven't located any next of kin?" Bobby asked, his gaze almost as sad as Evelyn's.

"Can't contact anyone at either one of his listed addresses. We've got a mother down on Brooks, and a father on Mulrauny. Can't contact either one. Both of 'em have some serious rap sheets. And little Jackie here is well on his way to a nice, long sheet of his own. This is arrest number nine."

"Priors?" Bobby asked, his rivalry with the older man forgotten.

"One for hustling, four for coke possession, three for theft."

"When was he picked up for prostitution?" Evelyn asked with a sigh.

"Year and a half ago. Before you ask, he would have been about twelve."

"Shit, ma. Why wasn't he removed back then?"

Conor shrugged again. "Couldn't contact the parents then either. Both him and the john claimed nothing was gonna happen, that the john was just a good Samaritan, trying to give him a ride, so the detectives at the time didn't try too hard to contact them."

"Our lovely tax dollars at work again," Bobby said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Well, if all your money wasn't dirty, Mercer, I might actually care what you think," Conor retorted, but both men could tell that neither of them really had their heart in it.

"So he's about what? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Conor nodded, as he started to usher them out of the room. "Fourteen. Birthday two months ago. I don't know how you wanna play this, Ms. Evelyn. I called you because I thought you'd be able to help this kid, and I know… The department already failed this kid once, so I kind of feel responsible. I know I should have went through the channels, and jumped through the hoops, but it would have taken all night. We would have had to take him down to holding, and we've had a busy night; probably would have had to put him in with somebody. Figured if he's an abused hooker, probably wouldn't have worked out real well putting him in with some of the perverts we got down there. So if you want to act as his advocate, we can skip all that, and you can let your bosses know, and we can get this all taken care of tonight."

"Aren't you going to have to put him in holding anyways?" Evelyn asked, stopping in front of the interview room door. "I mean, he _is_ under arrest, correct?"

Conor hesitated. "If you can tell me that the kid was under duress, that he wasn't fully in control of his actions, based on his fear, then we can probably release him into your custody."

Evelyn gave him a firm look. "I'll do my best. But you need to get in touch with Social Services, let them know I'm here. Also, let your people know what I'm doing, that way there's nothing that can be used to send this boy back to his parents. Alright?"

Conor nodded, and Evelyn came him a smile, as she patted his cheek, before entering the room, Bobby two steps behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. : )

* * *

"Jack?"

Bobby leaned in the corner, crossing his arms across his chest, his eyes following the boy's movements like a hawk watching a mouse, as Evelyn sat down in the chair, smiling.

Jack started biting his nails, still pacing the room back and forth.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

Bobby smiled casually. "Why don't you sit down, kid."

"And who the hell are you? Her bodyguard?"

"I'm Evelyn Mercer. This is my son, Bobby. I'm here as your Guardian Ad Litem."

Jack backed further into the opposite corner. "And why's he here?" He asked, pointing at Bobby.

"I'm here to make sure you don't hurt my ma, kid. Now sit your ass down. It's one in the morning, and unlike you, most people like to sleep at this hour," Bobby said sardonically. "So sit."

Evelyn hid a smile as the kid hastily obeyed.

"Alright, Jack. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?"

The kid tapped his foot against the floor. "Uh… can I go home afterwards?"

Evelyn smiled kindly, and ignored the question. "Can I ask what happened to your face, honey?"

"Can I have a smoke?"

Bobby chuckled, as he pulled a pack out of his pocket, and tossed them onto the table, followed by his zippo lighter.

The kid nodded appreciatively, as he lit his smoke. "Thanks, man. So what's a guardian… guardian whatever?"

"It means I'm acting as your parent until parents can be located."

The kid shrugged uncomfortably. "That might be awhile."

Evelyn nodded. "That's what I heard. Any idea where they might be?"

The kid hesitated for a second, taking a drag off his cigarette, before answering. "Not at home."

"Oh gee, kid, that's helpful," Bobby said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "We guessed that part. Any elaborations on where 'not at home' they might be?"

Jack glared, drumming his fingers on the table nervously. "I don't know, alright? They're not home that often. Even if they are, they're probably not gonna answer the phone."

"What happened to your arm?" Bobby raised his eyebrows as Jack quickly stuck his arms under the table. "What, tough question, kid?"

"None of your damn business," Jack growled.

Bobby shrugged. "Alrighty then. But you might wanna get it checked out. Handcuffs leave nasty scars." Almost casually, he pulled up his left sleeve, revealing a similar looking mark on his own arm, except his was well-scarred over, as opposed to Jack's still raw looking one.

The kid's eyes widened, and he leaned back in the chair, turning his glower towards Evelyn. "You do that to him?" He seethed.

"Hey, that's my ma. You show her some respect, or I'll show your ass my foot, you get me?" Bobby snapped. "That happened before she adopted me."

"You're adopted?"

Bobby smiled casually as he uncrossed his arms, and moved towards the table, sitting down in the only empty chair. "Four years in foster care, 'fore the handed my file to my ma," Bobby said, jerking one thumb over at Evelyn. "Year later she adopted me."

Jack looked at Evelyn suspiciously, before putting his head down again.

"Can I go home now?"

* * *

Connor sighed as Miss Evelyn and Bobby left the interrogation room. They were no further along than they had been when they started.

Miss Evelyn shook her head sadly as she entered the viewing room. "I'm sorry, Detective Britton. He's not willing to give anything up yet."

Bobby frowned as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed across his chest. "So what now?"

Connor shrugged helpless. "I put him in a cell overnight, and transfer him to the juvenile facility in the morning. Then he sits there until we can contact one or both of his parents. And unless he gives us something to work with, he's going to be charged with attempted burglary, and felony assault."

"Are you kiddin' me? Hell, Britton, did you not see the kid's face? The way he's dressed? Somebody's pushin' that kid to work the corner, whorin' himself out. Or what about that mark on his wrist? I wasn't fuckin' with him, Connor, I know the kind of marks handcuffs leave. That kid was handcuffed to something, and for a while. That's where the bruise comes from. The bloody cut? That's from trying to get free. Now tell me, Connor, what the hell would make the kid rip his own wrist apart like that, trying to get free? Hmm? 'Cause it wasn't to get at some fuckin' pizza!"

"And just what the hell would you like me to do, Mercer? Let him walk, and put him back out on the street, whoring himself out for a meal? Goin' home to his parents? Unless he tells us somethin', I can't do anything!"

Bobby glowered, growling under his breath for a moment, before storming out of the room.

A few seconds later, Connor and Miss Evelyn watched as Bobby stomped his way into the interrogation room.

* * *

Bobby slammed the door shut behind him, glaring through the one-way mirror, before swinging the chair around, and sitting down, setting his arms on the back.

"Alright, kid, listen up. This ain't gonna end well for you, no matter which way you spin it. You don't tell us anything, that cop who was in here before is gonna throw your ass in jail. And you won't be gettin' paid for it by the guys in there, kid. They'll just rip your ass apart, choke you out, maybe slap you around a bit. And after that, they haul you off to court, where –given your record, and the charges –you'll probably end up in juvie until you turn eighteen. Maybe a few years after that in an adult jail.

"Option number two: you give us some sad story about you being homeless, that you need the cash, blagh blagh blagh, maybe a bleedin' heart judge buys your shit, and lets you off with probation. You go back to whoever smashed your face in, handcuffed you… And I'm willin' to bet you got some bruises your hidin' under those clothes, although granted, with the skin you're showin' off, that can't be easy. And whoever you go runnin' back to is probably gonna shove you right back out onto the streets, Jackie boy."

The kid looked up at him through the lanky blonde hair, his eyes suspicious, and Bobby couldn't help but sigh. He knew what the kid was going through. He'd done the same thing with Evelyn. No matter what she'd said to him, he'd been suspicious, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"What do you want from me?" Jack asked quietly, his voice completely broken. Hopeless.

"I want the truth, Jack. I wanna help you. You tell the cop out there what's happening; who used your face as a punching bag, who's forcin' you to work the corner. You do that, and you get to walk outta here. You can come home with my ma and me."

The kid scoffed. "Oh yeah? Then what?"

Most people wouldn't have understood what he meant, but Bobby knew. "You tell us the truth, about who's doin' this to you, and we put 'em away. That detective out there puts 'em in jail."

"And what happens to me?"

"You stay with us until we find somethin' more permanent."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Alrighty so: I redid the first and second chapters. Nothing major, mostly typos, small plot errors, and a few mild personality changes. I would suggest you go back and reread them before reading this chapter. Also, due to a review I received from treesaresnazzy, I realized that a three year age difference between Bobby and Jack was completely unrealistic, so I moved Bobby's age up to twenty-one. Other than that, thanks for reading, and enjoy! And special thanks to everyone who reviewed.

* * *

_"And what happens to me?"_

_"You stay with us until we find somethin' more permanent."_

Bobby held only the tiniest sliver of hope that the kid would go for it. He knew that chances were, Jack would consider what he said, but he wouldn't bite. Not yet.

And there it was. Bobby noticed the split second flash of hope on the kid's face, before he closed down again.

"There's nothing to tell. I just wanna go home."

Bobby pursed his lips, nodding his head understandingly. "Alright. I didn't figure you'd do anything different, kid."

Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest, showcasing the bruises covering his arms. "Then why'd you try?"

Bobby chuckled a little, scratching at his face. "Truth, kid? Well… I sat where you're sittin', not too long ago. Listened to the same spiel I'm givin' you, although granted, it was a lot more… polite. And I did the same thing you're doin' right now. Tryin' to find the hidden angle. Figure out what I was really bein' offered. What the catch was. Lettin' myself think that maybe –maybe just this once –I'd caught a break. That somethin' was goin' right. Then I realized that it wasn't. Things didn't go right for me.

"So just like you're gonna do in a few minutes, I made a choice. A choice that ended up costin' me a lot of blood. A lot of pain. Like it's gonna cost you. But I figured… sittin' on this side of the table for once, maybe this was my chance to try and balance out karma or some shit."

Jack scoffed. "Alright, so you paid back your 'debt to society' or whatever the hell you wanna call it. Can I go home now?"

* * *

Connor frowned as Bobby leaned across the table, and began whispering to Jack.

"What the hell is he doing in there?" He said quietly, glaring through the glass.

Miss Evelyn smiled, still watching her oldest son. "I don't know. But whatever it is, I promise you, Detective Britton, Bobby wants to help that boy more than even you or myself do." At Connor's skeptical look, Miss Evelyn turned her smile to him. "You haven't met my youngest son yet, have you? Angel. I really thought that boy was gonna be impossible to get through to. He was almost as tough as Bobby. I just couldn't get through to him. Tried for two months, before I agreed to let Bobby have a try. A week later, Angel was living with me, of his own choice. He cleaned up his drug and alcohol problem, stopped skipping school…

"I don't know how, Detective Britton, but Bobby connects with these children. They trust him. And despite the act he'll put on, he secretly adores them almost as much as they adore him. They make him feel needed.

"I know you and my son have… an antagonistic relationship. And I know you both have your reasons. But you see Bobby as nothing more than a gangland thug, Detective Britton, and that's a mistake. While he's a little rough around the edges –and trust me, I do know the sort of things my son is involved in, Detective –Bobby's a good kid at heart. You just don't know him like I do.

"You've never seen him with a crying child. Comforting a girl whose father had just been arrested for molesting her. Taking a boy who just testified against his mother for abusing him out for ice cream. He's a good man, Detective. He's not going to do anything to hurt that young boy."

"Who's gonna hurt him?"

Both Evelyn and Connor jumped a little, not expecting Bobby's entrance into the viewing room.

"Nobody. What'd you say to him, Mercer?"

Bobby glowered. "None of your damn business, Britton. Kid's not gonna talk. Not yet anyways. I gave him ma's number, told him to call if he needs us."

"Look, Mercer, if he doesn't give us somethin', I'm gonna have to throw him in a cell, and he isn't gonna have an opportunity to call you."

Bobby flashed him a feral grin. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Britton. Things always change. Just get him in a cell by himself, or with someone you know ain't gonna mess with him, and make sure he gets an early appointment with the judge tomorrow."

Connor looked at Miss Evelyn in stunned silence, as Bobby waltzed out of the room.

Miss Evelyn smiled, patted him on the cheek, and turned to follow him out. "You're going to have to trust him, Detective Britton. Because I don't know what's going on either."

* * *

Bobby slid into the driver seat, and waited until his mother had buckled herself in.

"Ready to go home?"

Evelyn nodded, giving him a questioning look. "Do I want to know, Bobby?"

"You're just gonna have to trust me on this one, ma. I got it all figured out."

Evelyn sighed. "Bobby, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking…" She started warningly.

"Ma, look, just trust me, alright? I know what I'm doin'."

"I don't think you do, Bobby," Evelyn said softly. "You can't let this get personal. I understand you want to help Jack, and it's commendable, Bobby, it really is. But you have to keep a certain amount of distance between you."

Bobby scoffed as he pulled onto the highway. "Oh yeah… _Ma_. You're real good at keepin' your distance."

Evelyn smiled as she lay one hand on her oldest son's shoulder. "Maybe you're right, Bobby. But just keep this in mind: I was forty-nine years old when I adopted you. I'd made a lot of mistakes. I'd taken a lot of risks, blown a lot of chances. Had my fair share of trouble based on bad decisions. By the time you rolled around, I was getting ready to retire, Bobby. No husband, no kids… nothing to lose."

"Oh gee, way to put it, ma," Bobby said with a grin.

"But it's true, Bobby. You have your whole life ahead of you. If I had done what I did with you when I was first starting out, I would have lost my job. I might even have ended up with criminal charges. I've earned enough respect around here where I can do certain things, and not face the repercussions, or have minimum repercussions. You don't have that. Just bear that in mind, alright?"

Bobby grinned at her. "I'll be fine, ma. You worry too much."

Evelyn snorted. "With you and your brothers? I can never worry too much."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Alright so this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but I want to keep going on this, or it'll take me weeks to get it updated. So yeah, little short, little... choppy... But anyways. Here it is.

* * *

Judge Alfonso peered over the top of his glasses at the group of people sitting at the tables in front of him.

"Ms. Evelyn, may I ask how you came to be this young man's guardian ad litem?" He asked, a small smile on his face. "Not that I don't enjoy the sight of your pleasant face in my courtroom, but this is a little unusual for you."

Evelyn smiled at the elderly gentleman. "Well, Liam, that's a little complicated. Can we have a sidebar please?" She said, a pointed look at Jack, who was sitting between her, and his new defense attorney.

The judge nodded, and indicated for the prosecution and defense to come to the bench.

"Alright, Ms. Evelyn. Let's cut to the chase. Unless my new glasses are the wrong prescription, it looks to me like that boy took one hell of a beating a few days ago. Which is a few days before the incidence that brings us here today. I'm going to assume the detective in charge… One…" He glanced down at the papers on his desk, "Detective Britton… called you in assuming abuse. Am I right so far?" At Evelyn's nod, he pursed his lips. "Maybe you can explain to me why your office was just as uninformed as I was a few minutes ago?"

Evelyn sighed. "Detective Britton called me in last night, after he seen the same… marks that you saw, as well as the way the boy was dressed. I concurred with his assumption that the boy was working as a prostitute. Because the holding cells were a bit crowded last night, he wanted me to try and talk to the child, and see if I could… convince the child to tell us what had happened."

"It says here… He needed the money because –and I quote – 'nobody wants me when I look like this, and he needs the money'? Is that correct?" The judge asked.

"That's right, Liam."

"So you were hoping to try and get the case thrown out by claiming mental stress and/or duress? And then you'd take him home," He said with a slight chuckle, before his face sobered up again. "Alright. Did he give you anything that might suggest that?"

Evelyn's smile faded. "Unfortunately, no, Liam. He was too afraid."

"I… see." Liam pulled his glasses off, and rubbed at his forehead. "And his parents couldn't be found?" At Evelyn's slight shake of the head, he sighed. "Alright. Alright. Mr. Marsten, Mrs. Allen, any thoughts on any of this?"

The prosecutor, Mr. Marsten, shrugged. "No matter what the detective and Ms. Evelyn assume, nothing can be proved. And he broke Mr. Kaddurah's arm, and jaw," He said pointedly.

Marcia Allen shot daggers at the man. "You keep a tone of respect, Donny. That's my foster mother you're talking about," She seethed. "Your Honor, I feel if you view the security footage taken at the time of the incident, you'll find that my client acted in self-defense."

"Really, Marcia?" Marsten snapped. "That's what you're going for?"

Marcia ignored him. "Your honor, my client is guilty of trying to grab a handful of cash from the register –which I feel I must add, only carried twenty-three dollars at the time. The assault charge is ridiculous. Mr. Kaddurah attacked my client. Not the other way around. If you view the tape, you'll see that after my client reached into the drawer, Mr. Kaddurah grabbed my client, and bodily hauled him over the counter, before throwing him to the ground behind the register. My client simply reacted. And as far as Detective Britton and my mother's assumption, Donny? My mother has spent the past thirty years helping abused children, of which I was one, I'll remind you. Detective Britton also has a history of working with abused children. And also, may I remind you that Judge Alfonso _himself_ commented on my client's appearance?"

Liam held up one hand to silence her. "While your zeal is admirable, Mrs. Allen, Ms. Evelyn is fully capable of defending her own honor. And this sidebar has gone on for far too long. Please return to your seats." Then, to the open court, he announced, "Alright, here's how this is going to go. I'm going to my chambers to deliberate. Mr. Wilcox?"

Evelyn had to elbow Jack, who was apparently unused to hearing himself referred to as Mr. Wilcox before. At Evelyn's encouraging nod, Jack stood up, shifting from foot to foot.

"Uh… Yes, sir."

"I want you in my chambers in twenty minutes, young man. Ms. Evelyn, I'll assume you want to be with him?" He raised on hand as Evelyn nodded, and Marcia Allen went to speak. "I know you want to be with your client as well, Mrs. Allen, but I think we can all agree that Ms. Evelyn won't allow me to brow-beat the boy, correct? Good. Court will reconvene in… oh, let's make it an hour."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Alright, so. Sorry this took so long... But my left arm has been taped, bandaged, put in a sling, set in plaster, zapped, radiated, fried, cooked, boiled, itching, burning... Ahem, sorry got a little carried away. Anyways. Very hard to type one handed. Takes long long time. But here it is, and as an apology for the shortness of the last chapter, a very long chapter. : ) Thanks all who have reviewed. It means a lot to me. Y'all are great!

* * *

"So. Mr. Wilcox. What am I supposed to do with you?"

Evelyn watched silently as Jack squirmed in his seat, on the other side of Liam's desk. Evelyn herself sat by the door, doing her best to be unobtrusive.

"I uh… I don't know, sir," He mumbled, staring down at his hands.

"Well let's start with the basics. Why did you attack Mr. Kaddurah?" Liam asked conversationally, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head.

Jack startled, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, still avoiding Liam's eyes. "I uh… I just needed some money, sir,"

"For what?" When Jack refused to answer, Liam narrowed his eyes. "Young man, you're in a lot of trouble here. I don't think you quite understand, so let me explain it to you. Right now, in this room, and out there in the courtroom? I'm God to you, do you understand? I would be fully within my rights as a judge to put you in jail, for quite a long time. Given the nature of the attack, and the damage you did to Mr. Kaddurah, four years in a juvenile facility, followed by up to another four years in an adult facility would not be out of the question. And let me tell you what, boy: you may think you're big, and bad, but in there? The men in there will eat you alive. By the time you get out, you will no longer be able to go to the bathroom comfortably, do you understand me?" He finished slowly. "So I advise you, young man, do _not_ try and be a 'tough guy'. Do _not_ try and jerk my chain. When I ask you a question, you give me a complete, truthful answer, with a nice pretty 'yes sir' at the end of it. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Jack glared for a moment, before hanging his head. "Yes, sir," He muttered, shifting around in his seat.

"Good. Now I will repeat my question. This is the only time I will repeat myself. Why did you _need_ the money?"

"I uh… I…" Jack shuffled his feet, and Evelyn could feel her heart being crushed, as his composure broke. In an instant, the tough, belligerent young man was gone, replaced by a scared, trembling boy. Trying to sniffle back the tears, he looked up, and spoke, voice breaking as he said, "I uh… I didn't… didn't make enough… It was a… a slow night. And if I don't… If I don't make enough… He uh… He…" He looked back down, unable to continue.

Liam sighed. "He who, Jack?" He asked quietly, discreetly motioning for Evelyn to come over.

Evelyn had only been waiting for his approval; as soon as he had done so, she moved quickly, but carefully, exaggerating her movements as she sat down next to Jack, careful to keep her distance, to not spook him.

"Jack? Jack, it's fine, honey. Nobody's going to hurt you, alright? Everything is going to be fine. But… Honey, we need you to tell us who did this to you. Who needed the money."

Jack swiped the tears away from his face with the sleeve of his ragged hoodie. "I didn't wanna do it. But if I didn't… He'd… He'd hurt my mom and my little brother. But I didn't want to."

Liam's head shot up, and he eyed Evelyn, although he spoke to Jack. "Your little brother?"

Jack nodded dejectedly. "Yeah. Mikey. He's four."

Evelyn sighed. "Jack… You don't want your little brother to have to do what you do, do you?" At Jack's startled look, Evelyn gave him a sad smile. "If 'he' forced you to the streets, why wouldn't he do it with Mikey? But you tell us who 'he' is, Jack, and we'll get you and your mother, and your brother out. We'll get them safe, alright?"

Jack hung his head, chewing on his bottom lip for a few seconds, before sighing. "He's my… my mom's boyfriend. Pete Logsdon."

"And how long has Mr. Logsdon resided with your family, Jack?"

Jack shrugged half-heartedly. "I dunno. Since after my dad left. Since I was seven or eight I guess."

"And how long has he forced you to work as a prostitute?"

Evelyn glared pointedly at Liam, as his question made Jack wince. But apparently the boy's fear of Liam was greater than his embarrassment, since he answered, " 'Bout three and a half years. Four years come this fall."

"Miss Evelyn, I've heard enough. I trust you, and Mr. Wilcox can find your way back to the detention center?" Liam said, his voice hard as he reached for his phone.

Jack's eye grew huge. "You said you wouldn't send me in if I told you! You –"

"Easy, Mr. Wilcox. I'm not 'sending you in' as you put it. But you must remain in custody for a few hours longer. After that, we'll decide whether to let you return to your mother –on the condition she leaves Mr. Logsdon –or if we put you in a foster home. But I have phone calls to make. A few hours, and you'll be walking out of this building a free man."

"Liam, I assume you have Detective Britton's number?" Evelyn asked quietly, as Jack bolted towards the door. "I think he'd like to handle this."

"I'm sure it's in the file. Make sure he doesn't run off, Evelyn," Liam said, his sad gaze trailing after the boy. "I'll take care of the rest."

* * *

Conor rubbed his temples tiredly, feeling the pressure of the coming migraine building behind his eyes, and spreading fast. He'd been waiting for a call from Miss Evelyn; she'd promised to call him as soon as Judge Alfonso made a decision. His shift had technically ended an hour and a half ago, but he was entitled some overtime anyways.

He jumped, scattering papers across his desk as the shrill ring of the phone cut through the silence. "Hello?" He asked excitedly.

"Is this Detective Conor Britton?" Came a dignified voice from the other end of the line.

"Uh… Yes, this is Detective Britton. How can I help you sir?"

"This is Judge Liam Alfonso. I believe you're the detective in charge of the Wilcox case?"

"Oh! Yes, sir! Is everything all right, sir?"

"I'm faxing over a few warrants for you, Detective. One is for the immediate removal of one… Michael Wilcox, approximately four years of age. The second is for any evidence you can find in the house linking either Peter Logsdon or Lisa Wilcox to child abuse, child endangerment, child neglect, drug use, sexual abuse, etc., etc. The third warrant is for the immediate arrest of Mr. Logsdon. Mixed in there somewhere is a subpoena for Mrs. Wilcox, and Thomas Wilcox, the father of Jackson and Michael Wilcox, to appear at a hearing to determine custody of both children. Think you can handle all that, Detective?"

Connor nodded, a savage smile forming on his face. "Oh trust me, I can more than handle it sir. Is Lisa Wilcox to be placed under arrest if I find sufficient evidence in the house?"

"No. Not yet. But both her, and the younger child are to be taken to the hospital to have a full exam. If she refuses, tell her the truth: She will lose custody of both her children if she refuses to leave Mr. Logsdon. Our young friend indicated Mr. Logsdon frequently abused Mrs. Wilcox as well as the children, so she may be as much of a victim as the children."

"And what about Jack, your Honor?"

"As soon as you call me, and give me your take on the situation, I'll release him into Miss Evelyn's custody, to be taken to the hospital for a full exam. After that, you, Miss Evelyn, young Mr. Wilcox's attorney, and myself will have a sit down to decide –based off the evidence –if a custody hearing needs to be held, or if the children will be released back to one or both of their biological parents. Satisfactory, Detective?"

"Of course, Your Honor. I'll call you as soon as I'm finished."

"One more thing, Detective Britton."

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"Miss Evelyn wants me to tell you to tell Mr. Mercer to go home."

"Uh… If I see him –"

"Oh no, no, no, Detective Britton. Miss Evelyn and I both know Robert is sitting right there next to you. Tell him Liam says hello, will you?"

Conor grimaced as he heard the dial tone, slowly hanging the phone up, before glancing across his desk.

"Your mom says go home. 'Liam' says hello," He said slowly.

Bobby's grimace matched Conor's. "How the hell does she find this shit out?" He muttered, before shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. Not like she expects me to listen. What's the plan?"

"The plan is, you go home. I go do my cop thing, arrest the bad guy, dig up some evidence… you know the drill."

"Oh, come on, Britton. You ain't sendin' me home. You spent the past four hours sittin' here, you're not gonna send me home now."

"You're not a cop, Mercer. You can't come."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "What's it gonna take, huh? I pinky promise to stay in the car?"

"I'll lose my job."

Bobby scoffed. "You kiddin'? This is Detroit. Unless four eye witnesses see you murder the mayor, ain't nobody in this department gettin' fired. Hell, that might actually get you promoted to Chief."

Conor sighed, rubbing at his temple with one hand, as he walked towards the fax machine. "You stay in the car. I will lock you in the back, do you understand? No debate, no discussing terms. Take it or leave it, Mercer."

Bobby grunted as he stood. "Ain't you just the life of the party."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Alrighty so... over writer's block for this so... YAY... Ahem, anyways, apologize for slight weirdness of this chapter, I had a whole other chapter already planned out and written, but something about it just bothered me, so I decided to scrap it and start over again. So, hope you enjoy, blagh blagh blagh, review if you like please? Doesn't have to be much, just a short sentence... or even one word... I don't think you people understand, I LIVE for the emails saying I have reviews. It makes my life worth living, and then I dance around the house, and... well, okay, enough of that. Anyways. *shifty eyes*

* * *

Connor glanced across the seat at the boy –no, the young man, he reminded himself –sitting next to him.

"Right back where we started, Mercer."

Bobby shrugged, looking out the window. "Not exactly."

Connor chuckled mirthlessly. "How's it different? You sitting there, still pissed, still a thug, still hating me. What the hell's changed?"

Bobby finally looked over at him. "Britton, you give yourself too much fuckin' credit. I ain't hated you in a lotta years."

"Really."

"Yeah, fuckin' really. Ain't ever gonna _like_ you, but it ain't worth my time to _hate_ you."

Connor was quiet for a few minutes, before he spoke again. "Never forgiven myself for leaving her behind, Bobby. Just want you to know that."

Bobby tensed, his fists closing of their own accord, as memories assailed him like a load of bricks. He forced himself to take a few deep breathes, shoving the memories back, before he could speak.

"I ain't forgiven you either, Britton. She died 'cause you fucked up. I just don't waste my time hatin' you. Ain't what she wouldda wanted. And it sure as hell don't do me no good. Now shut the fuck up and drive. I ain't takin' a trip down memory fuckin' lane to try and make you feel less guilty."

* * *

"How much longer do I have to stay here?" Jack asked quietly, arms looped around the bars of his cell door.

Evelyn sighed. The boy looked much too comfortable, like it was something he'd done with some frequency. He was still wearing his clothes from the previous night, and that, along with the pose gave Evelyn the chills. It was like it was Bobby, coming back to haunt her.

She shook her head a bit, trying to clear it. Jack wasn't Bobby. In fact, as she glanced at his face, that point became more obvious. Jack was nothing like Bobby. Yes, they'd lived similar –although far from identical –lives, but other than that, they were completely different.

At thirteen, Bobby had already become a hardened thug. The life he'd lead had forced him to shut down his emotions, just to survive the nightmares of his childhood. Even to look at Bobby now, people could tell. Bobby was a man who'd went through hell, and walked away with only part of his soul intact.

But looking at Jack's eyes, it was almost like watching a little boy play dress up. He played the part, and had the look, but it was all acting. He was hiding it well, but Evelyn could tell, he was scared.

"Not too much longer, honey. Just until we get a few more things settled."

"Like what? What the hell is there to settle?" He demanded, pushing himself off of the bars, beginning to pace the room like a caged animal. "I've gotta get home. As it is…"His voice trailed off, as his face paled a bit. Quite a feat, given that he had a prostitute's normal pale skin.

"What happens if you're not home in time, Jack?" Evelyn asked softly, scooting her chair closer to the boy's cell. When she received no answer, she probed, "Does he beat you? Starve you? What happens, Jack?"

Jack sighed, dropping down on the dingy looking bed, hanging his head. "It's… it's not me. I… after a while, the beatings… I just didn't feel 'em anymore. I could take it. I didn't cry. And uh… he didn't like that. And that was when he started…" He paused, biting his lip for a minute, before taking a deep breath. "After a while… that stopped hurting too. So he started beatin' on my mom, and Mikey. So if I don't get home on time… Or if I don't… if I don't earn enough… he beats 'em. Or he'd lock Mikey and me up in separate rooms in the basement. I don't mind too much anymore, but Mike… he's scared of the dark. Hates it down there. And he's got… that breathing problem. Asthma. So when he starts panicking, he has a hard time breathing. After… after we had to take him to the hospital once… This is the first time I haven't been home at seven since then."

Evelyn smiled sadly. "You do a lot for your brother, don't you, Jack?" She asked softly.

Jack brought his head up, and a small smile appeared on his face. "Yeah. I mean, I gotta. He's my little brother, you know?"

"How else do take care of him, Jack?"

"I walk him to preschool and back, make him meals, do his laundry, help him with his schoolwork… Stuff like that." There was no mistaking the pride in his voice, and Evelyn smiled again. In that aspect, he had a lot in common with Bobby.

"Sounds like you're more of a parent than a brother, Jack. Where's your mother?"

Jack flinched, hanging his head again. "She uh… She pretty much just… I mean, she… she drinks a lot, so she spends most of her time in the bedroom. Tries to stay out of Pete's way, I guess. And I don't mind takin' care of Michael. He's a real good kid. Smart too. I mean, I don't do that good in school, but Mike… he already knows how to add, subtract, and read. Not like real books or anything, but kids' books."

"He does sound smart," Evelyn agreed. "But you'd probably do well in school if you didn't spend most of your nights… 'working'," She said quietly, giving him a pointed look.

Jack pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning back against the wall, as he looked away. "I uh… It's not… I don't wanna talk about it anymore, alright? I just wanna get outta here, and go see my brother."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Alright, so... I'm looking into different chapter titles, and as I go along, I'll probably end up changing the title of the story itself too._ I'm Not Okay, I Promise_ was just a working title, so... Be prepared for that. : ) Also, if anyone has any suggestions or ideas about chapter titles, please feel free to share.

* * *

Connor sighed as parked the squad car across the street from the dilapidated, two story house.

"This is it," He said quietly, shutting the car off, staring at the house.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, that'd about fit the bill. And before you say it, Britton… don't," He growled.

Connor swallowed back what he had been about to say. That other than the faded green paint job, it looked almost identical to the house he'd found Bobby in. But he bit it back, and instead said, "Looks empty."

"Gee, you think, Britton? What was your first hint? The fact that it's six o'clock and there's no lights, or the fact that it's dropped to fifty degrees, and the windows are open? Regular Sherlock Holmes, ain't ya?"

Connor snorted as they both got out of the car. "Surprised you even know who Sherlock Holmes is, Mercer. And where the hell do you think you're going?"

Bobby flashed him a feral grin as he walked backwards towards the house. "What, you really think I was gonna wait in the fuckin' car?"

"Mercer, get your ass over or –"

"Or what? You gonna handcuff me to the car? Now see, as I remember, you didn't seem to like handcuffs all that well a few years ago."

Connor flinched, before swearing under his breath. "Why the _fuck_ do you do that, Bobby?"

Bobby grinned as he turned around, and started up the porch. "Shock value, Britton. Nothin' but the shock value."

Connor snorted as he followed him. "More like you're a sick son of a bitch, Mercer," He muttered under his breath, before seeing what Bobby was doing. "Seriously, Mercer? The hell are you doing?"

Bobby looked up. "Pickin' the damn lock, what the hell does it look like? Jesus, do they put you guys through stupid school before givin' you your badges? Christ."

"Do you… are you…" Connor stopped for a second, taking a deep breath. "You do realize I'm a cop, right? And that lock picking kit is highly illegal. And I have a warrant. I can just bust the door down."

Bobby sighed, and held his hands up in mock surrender as he stood. "My bad. Oh wait… wait a second… If we can just… bust the door down…" He stepped back towards the door, before sinking his boot in just to the left, and a few inches below the lock. He flashed Connor that grin again, before stepping inside.

"Mercer, don't touch anything, you hear me? We're just looking around… CSU will come in later, and they'll probably dust for prints."

Bobby scoffed as he glanced around. "Yeah… 'Cause they're gonna work real hard, spend all that extra time and cash tryin' to get this guy. 'Sides… what would be the point? We know who the bad guy is. And like they could even find 'em in this junk."

Connor sighed as he took it all in. "Yeah. Probably right."

It was a mess. There were obvious signs that someone had left in a hurry, but even beyond that, the place was a disaster. The furniture was falling apart, covered in a layer of dust. Empty beer bottles and full ashtrays were everywhere, along with piles of laundry and dirty dishes covered in mold.

Bobby sighed. "I'll check the basement," He said resignedly, sidestepping the messes with practiced ease as he moved through the house.

"Alright. I'll start upstairs. Remember –"

"Yeah, yeah, don't touch anything. I heard you the first damn time."

* * *

As soon as he was out of Britton's eyesight, Bobby pulled his gun out of the back of his pants. He knew it was a pointless gesture, but the feel of the cold metal, the weight of it in his hands… it all helped to calm his nerves.

He had to maneuver his way through the piles of junk, through the living room and the kitchen to get to the basement door.

He knew there'd be a basement. There was always a damn basement. All of these fucking perverts had a basement.

Or an attic. Sometimes it was an attic, he reminded himself. Angel's mom had kept him in the attic. But usually, it was a fucking basement.

And this one had a deadbolt on the outside, he noticed darkly. Apparently the kid didn't know how to pick a lock. Bobby's own dad had started using a barrel lock after a while.

He idly turned the bolt, and pulled the door open. At least the stairs seemed in relatively good condition. He reached the bottom, and flicked the switch.

Well at least this 'Pete' wasn't a complete and total asshole. The lights worked. They were dim, and wasn't a whole hell of a lot to light up, but they worked. At least Jack and his brother hadn't been trapped down there in the dark.

It was musty. Probably mold down there somewhere. Mostly empty, except for a few boxes, filled with what looked to be odds and ends. At the far end, there were two doors. Both with padlocks.

Bobby fought down the anger building as he moved towards the doors. The padlocks weren't actually locked, and he swung the door on the right open first.

Furnace room. Half assed mattress on the floor. No lights. A ratty stuffed toy lay on the mattress, which made Bobby think that it was probably the little brother's room.

He moved to the other door, and pulled it open, and felt the anger growing inside him.

Storage room. No windows. Rotting mattress, covered in wet splotches. Pipes –probably water pipes –running along the walls, at the ceiling and floor. Two sets of handcuffs, one attached to each pipe.

And blood. Dried, stained, caked on blood. On the mattress, on the floor, on the ceiling… on the handcuffs.

"Britton! Get your ass down here!"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Alright, so am I awesome or what? Story a day, with a busted up arm. That's right, I'm a God. : ) Alright, all kidding aside though... I've got 38 people following this story, 22 people with it on their favorites list, and I'm averaging a hundred plus views per chapter. So when I get two or three review per chapter, it's a little disappointing. I'm not going to threaten to stop until I get X amount of reviews or anything... I just want y'all to think about it for a minute. How would you feel if you'd worked hard on something, had a bunch of people come look at it, and walk away silently? Not asking for you guys to leave a full length critic every chapter, but even something like, 'hey, it was good'. 'Hey it sucked'. 'Get a life'. Something anything, whatever. Pretty pretty please? *sigh* anyways, here's the next chapter. Special shout-outs to all of my regular reviewers. You few are the reason I've been pumping these out like crazy. : )

* * *

Connor took one look at the make-shift bedroom, and swore softly, before looking back at Bobby. "No sign of the brother or mother upstairs."

"The step-daddy?" Bobby asked sarcastically.

"Nobody. But I'd say that they all left here together. Looks like somebody went through the bedrooms, packed up a lot of the clothes."

Bobby snorted. "Could be they didn't have a lotta clothes to begin with."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mercer, could mean a lot of things. Point remains, the house is empty. I gotta call this in, get CSU here." He glanced back in at the bedroom again, and sighed. "How you think Jack's gonna take the news?"

Bobby snorted as he headed back towards the stairs. "Oh I think he's gonna be just peachy with it, Britton. His pedophile step-dad and alcoholic mother took off with his younger brother. Think he's gonna be just thrilled about it."

Connor bit his lip, still staring into the room. "I screwed up again, Bobby. _Fuck_! How the fuck did they know?"

* * *

Bobby hesitated at the bottom the stairs for a second, before turning around. "Look, Britton. You gotta lot of shit to feel guilty about. Me, Jenny… Sure there's more. Everybody fucks up, and everybody's got shit they gotta eat. But this ain't one of those times. This… 'Pete' guy probably panicked when Jackie boy didn't come home. Probably figured he'd gotten busted for hookin', knew what the kid looked like, and figured even you fuck-ups could connect the dots, so he grabs mom and the kid, and heads for the hills. Nothin' anybody could have done. Well… If Jackie boy had said somethin' earlier, maybe we couldda done somethin'. But otherwise… No way we were gonna win this one."

Britton scoffed. "Yeah. That always seems to be the case. Look, you uh… You gotta get outta here. I'll take care of things on this end, get a BOLO out on the family, and you uh…"

Bobby chuckled as he turned back towards the stairs. "You want me to go tell the kid that his brother's missing. Right. Yeah, I'll do your fucking dirty work, Britton. Figure I'll probably do a better job of it too. Not that it'd take a whole hell of a lot. As long as I don't say, "Hey, sorry, kid, I screwed up, your little brother's dead," can't do much worse, right?"

He smiled as he glanced over his shoulder enough to see Britton flinch again, and laughed.

"Just 'cause you ain't responsible this time, don't mean I ain't gonna remind you of the times you are," He called back as he walked upstairs. "See you around, Britton."

* * *

Evelyn was waiting for Bobby in the waiting area of the juvenile ward. As soon as she seen him, she knew it wasn't good.

"Lord, Bobby, tell me he isn't…" She stopped, unable to continue.

Bobby sighed. "No. Whole family's missin'. Looks like step-daddy packed 'em up and hit the road."

Evelyn's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, God."

Bobby sighed, pulling his mother into a tight embrace. "I know, ma. I know. Look uh… where's the kid?"

"He's still in hold up. Liam wanted to wait and see if we could find the parents before we made any decisions. But with this… I don't know. He might have to –"

"Don't say it, ma. We can't leave this kid in here. He's gotta get outta here. Today, ma."

"Bobby…" Evelyn said softly, "I just… I don't think there's anything we can do."

"Ma, I ain't leavin' him in there. The kid's got no fuckin' backbone. He ain't like me, or Angel, ma. That kid will bend over for any gang banger who looks at him funny. You know it, I know it. They'll fuckin' eat him alive in there. We gotta get him out, and we gotta get him out now."

"Bobby… Bobby, I don't think there's anything I can do, honey."

"Ma –"

"Bobby! Don't you think I would if I could? There's nothing I can do."

Bobby pulled back, dark eyes flashing angrily. "I ain't leavin' him here, ma. He'll come out fucked to hell and back. I ain't doin' that to him. It's bad enough I gotta tell him his kid brother is missin'. Now you want me to tell him that he's gotta stay in hell indefinitely while we try and find his diddlin' dad, and alchy mom? You know, the ones who disappeared with his brother? _You_ wanna go tell him that, ma? Huh?"

"Robert Isaiah Mercer, don't you dare take that tone with me," Evelyn said quietly. "You know as well as I do I don't want that. And I understand you're angry. But being angry at me is not going to help Jack. Get yourself under control, do you understand me?"

Bobby glared for a few minutes, before storming down the hallway towards the exit.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Alright, so a little short, but it was the right place to end it. : ) Besides, I figure with all the updates, I'm entitled to a few short ones here and there. Anyways... Thanks for reading, thanks for all the GREAT reviews! I really really appreciate them all, and special shout-outs to (as always) Al Harris, ducttapeandladybugsandboredom, and all of my other reviewers. Y'all are great. : )

* * *

Evelyn gave Bobby a few minutes, before following him outside. As she expected, he was sitting on a bench, a cigarette dangling from one lip, a vicious expression on his face as he tapped one foot against the pavement. Other than the tapping foot, he was completely still.

She sighed as she sat down next to him. "Bobby… I'm not going to try and give you the usual comforting nonsense that people say at times like these. Like 'sometimes, life just isn't fair'. 'Can't change the past'. 'Life goes on'. Or one of my favorites, 'everything happens for a reason'. Do you know why I'm not going say any of that to you, Bobby?"

Bobby scoffed as he moved just enough to flick his cigarette. " 'Cause it's fuckin' bullshit?" He offered sarcastically, his voice low, and practically humming with anger.

Evelyn nodded. "That's right, Bobby. Because they're all just so much fucking bull shit. Life is never fair in your favor. People could have stopped what happened in the past if they cared enough to try. Sometimes, life doesn't go on for some poor unfortunate soul. And every time I look at you, or one of your brothers, I'm reminded that sometimes, people do things just because they're sick, twisted people, Bobby."

Bobby rolled his eyes, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he flicked his cigarette again. "Ma, this ain't about me, so don't try and make it 'bout me, a'ight?" He snapped, not looking at her.

Evelyn smiled as she set her hand on his back. "But it is about you, Bobby. When I was sitting with Jack earlier, looking at him… In a way, Bobby, it was like looking at you again. And at first, I thought maybe that was why you wanted to help this boy so much. But then I realized, that –while there were similarities –Jack wasn't like you. Not really. And do you know, I spent the better part of two hours trying to figure out why this boy, out of all the children I've ever helped, you decided to latch on to like this.

"I mean, you get attached to all the kids, Bobby. I know that. But there's something different about this one. I mean, you're actually willingly working with Conor Britton, and that's something I thought I'd see only when Hell froze over. So I couldn't figure it out. Then, just a few minutes ago, I realized what it was."

Bobby snorted as he lit another cigarette. "Really. Care to share? 'Cause I'm at a fuckin' loss here, ma."

"I realized… Jack's what you could have been, had somebody stepped in sooner. Had Jenny not died. Had I gotten to you just a little bit sooner. He's got the potential to turn into you, Bobby. How much more would it have taken to push Jack down the same path you traveled? A few extra 'clients'? A few more months? One more time of their step-father going after his brother? What do you think it would have taken, Bobby?"

Bobby was silent for a few minutes, puffing away at his cigarette, before he finally looked over at the woman who'd been the only mother he'd ever known.

"I gotta go talk to the kid."

* * *

"Hey! Jackie poo! Up and at 'em, kid."

Bobby allowed himself a small smile as the kid flew off the bed he was sitting on.

"What?! What the hell?!" Jack demanded, glaring at Bobby.

"Listen up, and listen good, kid, 'cause I don't got a whole hell of a lotta time. Your folks disappeared. Weren't at the house when we went to get 'em. Any idea where they'd go?"

Jack's face paled. "They left? With Mikey? Did you –"

"Check the basement? Yeah, Jackie, checked the whole damn house. Nice room by the way. But look, if we wanna find your brat brother before step-daddy disappears into L.A., we gotta move fast."

Jack looked up, tears in his eyes, but a hopeful look on his face. "Do you… do you really think you can find him?"

Bobby shrugged. "Depends on how much you tell me, and how fast. Pete a dealer?"

"Drug dealer?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "No kid, a fuckin' car dealer. Yeah a drug dealer."

"Uh… not a dealer, but he uses."

"Uses what? Blow, smack, crack, acid, Mary J, speed, angel dust?"

"Mostly H, and acid. Sometimes coke and weed," Jack said uncomfortably, his mind seeming to slip away.

"Hey! Take a trip down nightmare lane later, kid. We gotta move fast. You know Pete's dealer?"

"Dunno his real name. Everybody always calls him Little T."

A feral smile came to Bobby's face. "How often Pete use?"

"I dunno. Couple times a day. Why, you think you can track down Little T, and see if he knows where they are?" Jack asked excitedly.

"Can do one better, kid. Don't have to track him down. Just gotta find a phone. If Pete ain't already grabbed his dope, we're fuckin' golden."

"Really?!" Jack jumped off the bed in excitement. "For real?"

"Yeah. Me and Tyrone grew up together," Bobby said, moving towards the exit. "We're gonna get your brother back, kid. I promise. And I'm gonna get you outta here."

Jack looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and hope on his face. "Really? But your mom said –"

"I know what she said. But I ain't my ma, kid. I'm gonna get you outta here."

"Find my brother first. I'll be alright," Jack said, and Bobby grinned at the tone of his voice. Kid wasn't trying to convince Bobby, he was trying to convince himself.

"Yeah, I know you will, kid. Just… keep to yourself, and don't look anybody in the eye, a'ight? You'll be fine. I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Alright so... this is very, very short comparatively speaking but... Well, you'll see why at the end. As long as this one is so short, I wanted to add a couple of things I've been meaning to add for a while now.

As several people have pointed out in reviews, or PM's, yes, for right now, this is focusing more on Bobby than Jack. As anyone who read _A Casualty Rerun_ knows, that's kind of how I work. I find the character dynamics between the two fascinating, so I tend to focus on Bobby's reasons and attitudes with Jack, rather than Bobby and Jack if that makes any sense at all. Now, kat mentioned that there hasn't been a whole lot of Jack yet. This is very true. That's changing. As Jack moves in with the Mercers, and starts to adjust, obviously we'll see a lot more of him. Also, to answer a question that several of you have broached: Yes, I will be getting more into detail with Bobby's past. But everything in it's own sweet time. : ) Thanks to Tara Laurel, Starkid McFly, and kat for reviewing the last chapter, and everyone who's reviewed up until this point.

* * *

"Sorry, man. Ain't heard from Logsdon in two days. Which is a little bit unusual, I'll admit. Usually the cracker shows up every two days like clockwork, but I ain't seen him around today."

Bobby sighed, leaning back against the gray wall. "A'ight, man. Look, if you see him around, give me a call."

"An' why exactly am I doin' this again, Bobby? You know how bad it is for business when my… 'customers' go missin'."

"Ty, I'm sittin' in Juvie right now, with his step-son he's been diddlin' for the past four years, when he wasn't busy pimpin' the kid out."

There was a cold silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, before Tyrone spoke again, the laughing, joking demeanor gone. "Maybe when Ol' Petey comes by, I just handle the problem myself."

"If only it was that easy, Ty. Logsdon disappeared with mommy and little brother."

"Aw shit."

"Yeah. So just call if he shows up. Keep him there, distract him… Whatever it takes."

"A'ight man. How the hell am I supposed to get a hold of you?"

"You ain't. Got a pen?"

"Yeah, go 'head."

"Alright, number is 313-555-2971. That's Detective Conor Britton."

Another moment of silence on the other end. "Ya know I don't like workin' with the cops, O'Shea. Gotta lotta product I'll have to move."

Bobby flinched, before regaining himself. "If you ain't willin' to do it for the kid, Ty, do it for Jenny."

"Was a low blow, man," Came the quiet response.

"So was the O'Shea crack."

"A'ight, a'ight. Fair enough. I'll call your pet cop if I see anythin'. Take care a yourself, Bobby."

Bobby sighed again, not responding as he hung up the payphone, and turned back towards the waiting area.

Tyrone Higgins had been –a lifetime ago –Jenny's best friend. Ty had looked after Bobby like an older brother for years –even after Jenny's death –until Ty finally felt safe enough leaving the then fourteen year old Bobby with Evelyn.

He sighed, running a hand through his greasy hair as he entered the waiting area. It'd been two days since he'd had a shower, and –

His whole brain shut down momentarily as he seen his mother, standing next to the intake desk, the phone in her hand, a look of horror on her face.

"Ma? Ma, what's goin' on?"

Evelyn slowly hung up the phone, as she turned towards him, one hand on her face, and tears in her eyes. "That was uh… That was Detective Britton."

"And?" Bobby demanded, a sinking feeling settling into his gut. He knew what was coming, but he prayed to God that he was wrong. That just this once, there was gonna be a happy ending.

"They… they just found Pete Logsdon car. In Lake Michigan."

Bobby could only stare in stunned silence for a moment, before finally finding his voice. "The kid?"

"Lisa and Micah Wilcox were both found, strapped in their seats. No survivors. Peter Logsdon was nowhere to be found."

* * *

O_O Gasp, I'm a horrible person! Don't worry though, I shan't keep you waiting for long. Already working on the next chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Alright, slight weirdness to this chapter... I do apologize, but I'm not exactly sure where I'm going to take the story from here, although I do have a few ideas. So it might be a few weeks until another update, until I figure out what I'm doing, and where this is headed. : ( A lot of it right now is loose ends that I have to fit in, deciding what to do with Connor Britton, actually come up with the background story for Bobby, and a few other little surprise ideas I have. But I have to toy around with it for a while, make sure it fits. But, at the very least, I hope you enjoy this chapter. : )

* * *

_Bobby could only stare in stunned silence for a moment, before finally finding his voice. "The kid?"_

_"Lisa and Micah Wilcox were both found, strapped in their seats. No survivors. Peter Logsdon was nowhere to be found."_

Bobby froze, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth, as he stared at his mother. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he found his voice.

"You go tell the kid," He said hoarsely, before spinning around, and heading towards the exit.

"Bobby…"

He stopped, but he didn't turn as he said, "Ma, you need to go tell the kid. Handle the fall-out."

"Are you sure that's my place, Bobby?" She asked softly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off. "I've got nothin' to say that won't make this worse on the kid. Nothin' I can do to make him feel better. But there's one thing I can do that's gonna make _me_ feel a hell of a lot better, and a lot of good people sleep a lot fuckin' better at night."

"Bobby –"

"Don't, ma. You got your way of dealing with things; I got mine. Instead of worryin' about me, you oughtta be worrying about how you're gonna tell that boy his little brother is dead. 'Cause if I ain't wrong, that kid's whole reason for livin' just swallowed half of Lake fucking Michigan."

With that, he silently stalked away.

And Evelyn could only watch.

She quickly fought back the tears threatening to spill down her face, and pulled herself together. Fight it as much as she could, this was part of Bobby, one that she seen only rarely, but that would never leave him.

The one that would never stop terrifying her with the thought of what might happen to her oldest, and first child.

* * *

Connor sat at his desk, staring absently into nothing.

Again. It'd happened _again_. He'd fucked up, and another kid was dead. The ME on the site had said the mother was already unconscious when the car went under, but the boy –Mikey –had been conscious. That he'd struggled to get out of the booster seat he'd been strapped in.

Connor couldn't imagine the horror, the terror that had gone through that little boy's mind in those final minutes. Screaming for his mother, and getting no response. Trying to get out of the seat, holding him in what would be his tomb. Those last moments of panic before unconsciousness had taken hold.

If only he'd dug deeper from the get-go. 'Michael Wilcox' hadn't shown up in the records; the warrant would have been useless, even if he'd found the kid alive. 'Michael Wilcox' had actually been Micah Logsdon. If he'd dug deeper, if he'd found Pete Logsdon somewhere in Lisa's contacts… The boy would have shown up, and they wouldn't have had to wait for Jack to reveal the information.

The knowledge of that –the weight of the little boy's death –weighed him down like a truckload of cement. It was like Jennifer O'Shea all over again.

A bloody, violent, painful death. An innocent child lost.

Maybe another Bobby Mercer created.

Bobby had always had a mean streak about him; when Connor had picked him up for assaulting a 'client' that fateful day eleven years ago, it wasn't the first time Connor had driven the boy to the station. Wasn't the first time Bobby O'Shea had been arrested. But the kid had only done what he did in self-defense. Defending himself against his father, or an angry John. Stealing to feed himself, or his family. Or to avoid a beating.

But after Connor had fucked up, and his older sister Jenny had died, Bobby O'Shea had gone cold. Even being adopted by Miss Evelyn couldn't completely erase it. She'd kept it mostly under control, but it was there, always lurking about the surface, and it'd flared it's ugly head more than once.

Maybe Jack wouldn't turn out like Bobby, he thought, grabbing onto the thought and holding on for dear life. The kid would never be normal, never forget what he'd gone through… But maybe he wouldn't turn into a cold blooded killer.

Maybe Connor wouldn't have to arrest him for murder one day, like he knew he'd eventually have to do to Bobby. Maybe he wouldn't have to look at another hardened thug, and know he was responsible for it.

But even if Jack didn't turn out like Bobby… He'd never, ever be normal.

* * *

The Next Afternoon

"Mr. Wilcox, in light of your mother's recent… demise, and our failure at locating your father, I'm here by remanding you to the state. At Miss Evelyn's request, and with the agreements of both parties, I'm placing you in her custody, effective immediately.

"In light of certain circumstances that have come to light, and the security footage from the convenience store, I'm sentencing you to one hundred hours of community service, to be completed in no less than one year.

"I'm giving you a second chance here, Mr. Wilcox. I expect that I won't see you again in my court room. If I do, you will receive no leniency. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Liam frowned at the dead look in the boy's eyes as he continued staring into space. Finally, after a nudge from Mrs. Allen, the boy finally nodded slowly.

"Alright then. This case is adjourned."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Alright, so the story is swinging in a slightly different direction, but just in the way it's going to be presented. : ) Anyways, reviews mucho appreciated, and I promise, last time I'll change the damn title lol.

* * *

Connor was half asleep in his recliner, when the telephone rang, the shrill, obnoxious sound cutting through his brain. Grunting, he fumbled around for the remote, muting the late night reruns of Sanford and Son, before grabbing for the phone.

" 'Lo?" He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"Detective Britton?"

Instantly, he felt more awake. "Miss Evelyn? What's wrong? Is Jack alright?"

"Well… To be honest, no, but that's not why I called."

"Miss Evelyn, I'm sorry, but I'm not following," Connor said, running a hand through his thinning hair.

"Jack is… well, about as well as can be expected in these circumstances. Which is to say, the poor child's practically comatose. But I can handle that. It's… well, it's Bobby."

Connor sighed. "Miss Evelyn…" He started, before stopping, unsure of what he was going to say.

"Please, Detective Britton. He's… He went looking for Jack's step-father. It's been three days now, and I haven't heard from him. He's… I don't want my son going to jail, Detective Britton."

Connor barely bit back his groan. "Miss Evelyn… Don't take this… I mean… Just what is it you expect me to do? I can't…" He sighed again. "I can't clean up after him for the rest of his life," He said helplessly.

"I know that, Detective. I just… I'm worried. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you."

Connor mentally swore. "Look, I'll uh… I'll see how the investigation into Pete Logsdon is doing, and I'll keep my eyes and ears open for news of Bobby, alright?"

He could hear the relief in the elderly woman's voice as she said, "Thank you. Thank you, Detective."

"Yeah, uh… Not a problem. Just… keep me updated on the kid?"

"Of course. Good night, Detective."

Connor hung up the phone, before leaning back in the chair, deep in thought.

* * *

_Nine Years Ago_

"Sir, you need to get off the boy! Now!"

"But he –"

"I don't care, sir, get off the boy, now!" Connor barked, pulling his 9MM, and aiming it at the struggling man, and the boy underneath him.

Angrily, the large man shoved off of the child, and stood, face red, sweat rolling down his forehead. "That little shit stole my wallet!"

Connor sighed, re-holstering his weapon, as he seen the young boy. "Jesus, Bobby. Get up! And you! Don't move," Connor snapped, seeing the older man start to back away. He reached down, and hauled Bobby O'Shea up off the ground, keeping a firm grip on the ragged collar of the boy's hoodie. "Alright. So, how much he try to jip you, Bobby?"

Thirteen year old Bobby tugged himself free of Connor's grasp. "He didn't," The boy muttered.

"Jesus, Bobby, are we gonna play this game again?" Connor asked tiredly, grabbing his shirt again.

"No game. He ain't a John, and I ain't a hooker," Bobby mumbled again.

Connor rolled his eyes, before cutting his sight to the man. "What's your name?" He demanded. "And you got one shot to tell me what the hell is going on here."

"Daniel Harkins. And I uh… I came out from my hotel room… and then… this kid jumped me, and tried grabbing my wallet."

Connor barely restrained himself from grinding his teeth. "Alright, fine. Then you –" He pointed to Harkins "-drive down to the station, file a report. This your car here?" At the man's slight nod, Connor said, "Alright. I want your license. Now. You can get it when you get back to the station. Get going."

Connor waited, still holding on to Bobby, as the man got in his car, and started off. As soon as he was out of eye sight, Connor turned to Bobby. "Look, kid… All you gotta do is tell me the truth, alright? You aren't in trouble here. I know that guy picked you up. And I know why he picked you up. Just tell me what happened. Did you two close the deal, and he wouldn't pay?" When the kid didn't say anything, Connor sighed. "Bobby… I know you. If you were gonna snatch and grab, you wouldn't have been caught. And you wouldn't have backed down from your end of the deal. So tell me what happened."

The kid glared at him. "Nothin' happened. Jus' like the guy said, tried to grab his wallet, and guess I was just a bit too slow."

Connor returned Bobby's glare for a moment, before swearing under his breath. "Fine. That's how you wanna play it, fine. Hands on the squad car, spread your feet. You know the drill."

Bobby pulled back sharply. "Look, Britton, you know I ain't got nothin' on me. Can't you just put me in the back? I don't got all night."

After a few moments worth of thoughts, Connor sighed. "Yeah, alright. Get in the car."

* * *

It was a few hours later when Connor made the trip down the hallways to the drunk tanks. Since it was a busy night, there had been nowhere else to put Bobby, so he'd been stuck in one of the back cells.

He sighed as he stopped in front of Bobby's cell. Apparently the kid had heard him coming. He had his arms draped around the bars of his cell, head cocked to the side, a devil-may-care grin on his face. He wasn't wearing typical male hooker wear; instead of the tight, form-fitting clothing, he wore a lose pair of black carpenter pants, and a large Detroit Red Wings hoodie. But like most kids in Bobby's situation, the clothes were ratty, thinned in some areas, ripped and torn in others, and too big, even for Bobby's stocky, well-muscled frame.

"Surprise, surprise, your friend didn't stick around. Said it wasn't worth his time to press charges," Connor said off-handedly. At Bobby's sharp look, Connor continued, "Oh yeah, spun us all a story about how he just felt so sorry for 'disadvantaged kids like you'. Think he almost managed to eke out a few tears and everything. But hey… he must think he got the once in a lifetime miracle here, Bobby boy. He gets to play a little hanky panky, maybe a little sucky sucky with a fine, under-aged piece of ass… Cops show up, and the kid denies it all. Goes along with his little 'theft' story. How… fortunate."

Bobby's dark eyes flashed, although that cold smile never left his face. "Well then… Detective… Britton… Guess you gotta let me go then, huh? Gee, thems the breaks, huh? So, you here to 'release' me? Or you gonna give me another one of those stupid, 'you don't need to do this, we can help you, you're ruining your life' speeches?"

Connor chuckled sadly. "Well, I think you just about covered it all. So I guess you're not gonna tell me the truth then?" He asked, as he unlocked the door, and Bobby stepped out, stretching his arms.

"Truth? Truth is whatever the hell you tell yourself, Britton," Bobby said with a dark smile, before stalking up the hallway towards the precinct itself.

* * *

Gasping for air, Bobby clawed his way awake, sweat rolling down his body as he sat up.

Still struggling to catch his breath, he glanced around the empty tenement building. He could just barely see the rising sun through the far window, meaning it must have been close to six o'clock. He shivered a bit, still breathing heavily as he reached over and grabbed his jacket, sliding the over-sized leather garment over his hoodie, and then pulling his boots on.

He scowled as he looked up, and caught sight of himself in the remains of what had once been a large living room window, now full of holes, covered in dirt, and spider webbed with cracks. He was a mess.

It shouldn't have been bothering him like this. The closer he got to Pete Logsdon, the more Bobby roamed the streets of his old neighborhood, the more old friends he talked to, the harder it got to keep it all at bay. Even he would admit, while he might look fine on the outside, he was hanging on by a thread. The sweat pouring off him, his almost bleach white face, and his still-ragged breathing gave testament to the nightmare he was putting himself through.

_Just a few more days_, he thought, grasping the thought for dear life. _Two more days, and I'll have this asshole. Then I can go home, and put it all behind me_.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Alright so firstly... This entire chapter -hell this entire story -is dedicated to Al Harris. He beta'd and put a LOT of input into this. Helped me get over my writer's block, etc, etc. So you should all be mucho appreciative. Also, forgot to put in the last one: had to juggle ages a little bit for this all to work out right, so... Eh, continuity errors. My bad. I'm sure you won't complain too much. : )

* * *

Connor sighed as he stepped into the precinct. Hopefully one of the three detectives working the Logsdon case were still there, all though his chances were slim. As far as he knew, the homicide team had had a late night, pouring over the house, and trying to chase down leads. And it was only… He glanced down at his watch. Six thirty already. Had it really been ten hours since he'd found the little boy's body?

"Hey, Britton! What're you doin' here? Didn't you pull a late one last night?"

Connor forced a tired smile, as he glanced over towards the Narcotics desks. "Yeah. Came in to see if the Homicide boys had anything on my case."

"Oh, the uh… That kid, right? Martinez was lookin' for you earlier. That's who pulled lead," Georgie Trumble volunteered. "Him, Campbell and that new kid are working it."

"They still here?" Connor asked, moving towards the hallways that would lead to the homicide section of the precinct.

"Uh… last I knew, Campbell was still filling out the evidence logs."

"Alright, thanks, Georgie. I'll see you later."

Connor kept moving through the precinct, until he stopped in front of Nikki Campbell's desk, a five year homicide veteran. Before that, she'd been Connor's partner in Vice for two years.

"Nikki, how's it going?" He asked with a smile, plopping down in the desk against hers.

She looked up, and gave him a small smile. "It's goin'. 'Bout all I can say right now. We got a couple of good leads, but unfortunately, we all need sleep. I'm fillin' out the reports, Manny and the newbie are catchin' a few z's downstairs. Gonna wake 'em up in two hours, switch out."

Connor grimaced. "How'd you catch log duty?"

"It was either this, or mentor the new guy. What're you doin' here? You musta been at the crime scene 'til twelve last night."

"You know what I'm doin' here, Nikki."

"Yeah, and I also know Bobby's involved," She countered, ignoring his glare.

Connor sighed. "Look, I just… I promised Miss Evelyn I'd find him."

Nikki looked up in a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Really? Wow. Never pictured her as the 'out for blood' type," She said, before shrugging, and going back to her paperwork.

"Huh? Oh, no," Connor said dismissively. "Not Logsdon. Bobby's trying to track Logsdon down. I wanna find him before he does."

Nikki sighed, looking up with a sad look on her face. "Britton, you can't keep him outta trouble forever. That kid's a bomb waitin' to explode. All you're doin' is delayin' the inevitable. And I'd hate for you to go down with him."

Connor waited patiently until she was finished speaking. Then, "Are you gonna tell me, Nikki?"

She opened her mouth, but was cut off when her phone rang. "Detective Campbell speaking, how can I help you?" She frowned, and handed the phone to Connor. "It's for you," She said with a shrug.

Connor raised an eyebrow in surprise, as he grabbed the phone. "Detective Britton," He said cautiously.

"Yeah, uh… This is Ty Higgins. Dunno if you remember –"

"I remember. What's this about, Tyrone?" Connor asked wearily.

"Well… Bobby gave me your number, told me to call if Pete Logsdon showed up."

Instantly, Connor shot up, motioning to Nikki as he put the phone on speaker. "Alright, did you see him?"

A snort came through loud and clear. "See him? Hell, I got the cracker sittin' in my back yard."

* * *

"Your car or mine?"

Connor glanced over at Nikki. "Mine," He said shortly, as they arrived at his car. He got in, and started the car.

* * *

_Nine years earlier_

Connor sighed as he started the car. "I hate patrols," He grumbled, glaring at his partner. "Why the hell would you _volunteer_ us for patrol?"

Nikki Campbell rolled her eyes. "Because you've been broodin' 'bout that kid for the past two hours. Gotta get you out, get your mind off it."

Connor snorted as they started out of the squad garage. "I _haven't_ been brooding," He muttered.

"Connor… You've gotta let it go. Some of these kids… We can't help 'em. Nothin' we can do to –"

She was cut off as the radio static filled the car, before the dispatcher's voice came over the radio.

"Car 253, we have a domestic altercation at 619 Bull Run Road. Neighbors report multiple children screaming. ETA for your arrival: six minutes."

Nikki grabbed the CB mic. "10-4, dispatch. Car 253 en route." She put the mic back, and turned to Connor. "Maybe _these_ are some kids you can help."

Connor stomped on the gas. "Maybe."

* * *

It was less than four minutes later when they pulled up in front of the run-down, two story green house.

"No screams," Nikki said, jumping out of the car.

Connor was quick on his feet behind her, as the two ran towards the house. "That's not a good sign."

"Police!" Connor barked, banging on the door. "Open up!" When they received no response, Nikki kicked the door in, and the two barged in, Nikki moving to the right, and Connor moving to the left.

Connor grimaced as he entered the living room. "Got two adults in here!" He called out, toeing one of them in disgust. "Male and female. Unconscious." The greasy, dirty couple had clearly passed out, whether from drugs or alcohol, Connor couldn't be sure.

"Nothing upstairs!" Nikki called back. "Think I found a basement door! Gonna check it out!"

He kept his gun trained on the two unconscious adults for a few moments, before he heard Nikki scream.

"Connor, get down here!"

After only a moment's hesitation, Connor ran towards the sound of her voice, finding himself at the top of a set of stairs leading to a basement.

"What's going on?" He called down.

"Got two kids! Ambulance is on the way! Get your ass down here!"

Connor charged down the stairs, before coming to an abrupt stop at the foot of the stairs. "Oh Christ," He murmured.

Nikki was kneeling over the body of a young girl, no more than fifteen or sixteen. Across the room lay a body that looked all too familiar.

"Bobby."

"Connor! He's bleeding out, and she's not breathing," Nikki snapped, before lowering her head, and beginning CPR.

Connor dropped down next to Bobby. Five stab wounds were obvious, but judging by the blood, there were probably more underneath the clothes.

_The clothes he'd been wearing when he walked out of the station, less than two hours ago._

He ripped off his jacket, and using his knife, began cutting off strips, before wadding them up, and pressing them against as many of the wounds as he could.

The top of the stairs creaked, and Connor glanced up, expecting the parents to be at the top of the stairs. But there was nothing he could see, so he turned his attention back to Bobby.

"There's too many," He said through gritted teeth, trying to apply pressure to the wounds.

"I can't a pulse on her," Nikki retorted, before leaning back on her heels.

"Jenny…"

Connor glanced up in surprise. One of Bobby's eyes were open, rolling around.

"Bobby? Bobby, can you hear me?"

"Jenny…"

Connor swallowed thickly. "Nikki, you got a pulse yet?"

"No," She choked out, clearly fighting back tears.

"Then get over and help me save Bobby," Connor snapped.

Instantly, Bobby began struggling. "Jenny!" He whispered, blood coming out of the side of his mouth.

"Bobby, quit moving!" Connor said sharply, still pushing down on the wounds. "Nikki, help hold him down."

"There's too much blood, Connor," Nikki said, but she still knelt down, and started applying more pressure.

But Connor knew she was right. There was too much blood. Too many wounds.

_And it was all his fault._

* * *

"Connor?"

Connor snapped his head around. "What?" He asked, annoyance clear in his voice as he stared at his one-time partner.

"We gotta go."


End file.
